Celia somberly raged. "Is one to be forced to know people whom it gives one goose-flesh to hear mentioned? The Brays have made me feel as if boiled cabbage were reeking from every house in the village, and I am to associate with them quite as with people I like? Voluntary intercourse should signify, after all, some degree of regard, and I am to pretend--No! I will not admit the legitimacy of any tyranny which could so coerce me! I will be civil to her every time my bad luck throws us together, but seek her out I will not." At the last of the season, nevertheless, Mrs. Compton's card and Celia's were left at the Brays', their call falling upon a day when Judith was far from home, to the knowledge of every soul in the place, Judith truly believed. Celia left on the day after, with the comfortable sense of having done her duty and deserved the crumb of favor vouchsafed her by fate. She supposed, when she came back the following year, that her relation with the Brays was now definitely established: one formal call from each party during the season. But the first time she met Judith, she perceived instantly that all was changed. She knew she had made an enemy. How the revulsion had come about was never clear: whether owing to the mere ripening of age--Judith was now twenty-four or -five, Celia five or six years older--or the souring of a despised prepossession, or the intimacy with Jess, which began at about this time. Celia's punctilious bow met the response of as much petty rudeness as could be concentrated into a lifting of the chin and a stare. "Very well," she said to herself stonily, "if you prefer it so, it is by far the most agreeable to me."